Not in a Million Years
by Alexandra926
Summary: Mark Watney finds himself on a blind date with Darcy Lewis. Spoiler alert: It doesn't go well. (The Martian/MCU crossover romance that nobody in the history of forever has been waiting for. Darcy Lewis and Melissa Lewis are sisters, naturally.)
1. Chapter 1

"I feel the same way about blind dates that I do about disco, actually," said Mark. " _Commander_ ," he added, sardonically.

"It's been a year since you got back," Melissa continued. "You're in New York City for the next week, why do you want to stay holed up in your hotel room like it's the Hab? When you could be having dinner tonight with someone that I _personally guarantee_ is a nice person, instead? She hates disco, also," Melissa added, amused. "Ever since we were kids, she has. At least you've got that much in common."

Mark wavered a little.

"Like she really hates it?" It did sound like an awfully attractive personality trait, when he stopped to think about it. And maybe it would be more interesting than room service.

"Despises it."

"How much?"

"She makes fun of me and Robert, all the time, over it. Says it makes her ears bleed."

"And she's not going to make a big deal over me being Mark Watney?"

"She deals with celebrities way more famous than you all the time. It's her job. To her, you're just another one of my coworkers."

Mark sighed.

"Ugh, fine," he acquiesced. "One dinner. But she'd better not turn out to be a dog," he teased.

"Watney, my sister is not a dog."

"Wait, she's your _sister?_ "

* * *

"Hey sis," Darcy answered the phone on the seventh ring. Melissa had expected it to go to voice any moment.

"So," Melissa cut right to the chase, "Watney is in town for a week, and I need you to watch out for him for me. Please?"

"Oh hell no," she groaned. "This is another set-up attempt, isn't it?"

"Of course not," Melissa lied. "It's just that I get worried about him, spending a week in Manhattan when he doesn't know anyone. And you make new friends so easily," she wheedled, "it would be nothing for you to take this guy under your wing, show him the sights, he's a scientist, Darce. He's shy."

"I know plenty of shy little scientist types," Darcy reminded her, "and 'Look! A Pair of Boobs! Watney is not one of them! I'm sure he can find a date on his own."

"He hasn't, though," Melissa told her, "not since before we launched."

"Probably gay, then," Darcy needled her. "Pass!"

"Oh my god," Melissa retorted. "Watney is not gay."

"That you know of," Darcy finished her older sister's sentence. "But he doesn't date women for what, five years. Yeah. I'm sure he's exceedingly normal."

"Well, he said he'd go out with _you_ ," she finished, triumphantly.

"Ugh, fine," she agreed, finally. "One dinner, and that's all. And, I get to be the deejay for at least six songs when you and Robert renew your vows next month."

"Three songs," Melissa tried to barter her down. "And you have to dance with Watney if he shows up without a date."

"No deal. Six non-disco songs. Anything I pick. I'll dance _once_ with your potato nerd. _If_ he asks. No photographs will be taken. Final offer."

"Sold," Melissa said.

* * *

Oh, for fuck's sake.

This had been a mistake.

Lewis's sister was not a dog, exactly, but she sure wasn't trying very hard, Mark thought. She'd actually shown up wearing a black knitted… hat thing on her head. It was pulled way down low, covering her forehead and ears. Furthermore, it was impossible to tell what she even looked like, aside from her face which was half covered in the aforementioned hat and hair that curtained down on both sides.

She was covered from throat to wrist, wearing head-to-toe black, and Mark wasn't sure what to make of that, either. Was she trying to get some extra mileage out of her cat burglar Halloween costume?

 _Why did I agree to this, again?_

"Nice beanie, there," he greeted her, with no small amount of sarcasm. She was late, of course, and if there was anything that irritated Mark, it was sitting around waiting on someone. He'd done enough of that for one lifetime, in his opinion. "I'm Mark," he introduced himself, and shrugged. He was sure she knew who he was, but it still felt weird to go around acting like he _knew_ how famous he was.

And now, pretending that he _didn't_ know was, officially, just as weird. Fuck me, he thought. There _is_ no normal anymore.

"Darcy. Sorry I was late," she replied, flopping down into her chair, "My boss, well, he doesn't actually like to sign documents, and it took me longer than usual to forge his signature…" she trailed off, and he wasn't actually sure whether or not she was kidding.

"Ah. So, uh, you're just going to like, eat dinner, wearing that?" He raised an eyebrow at her hat.

"It's part of my outfit," she leveled him with a gaze that reminded him, momentarily, of Commander Lewis. "So, yeah. I am."

"Okay, cool. As long as the waiter doesn't mistake you for a commando, I guess we're good."

The waiter in question chose that moment to show up.

"And what can I get you, to drink?" he asked Darcy.

"Something stiff," she muttered. "To match my date."

Mark rolled his eyes, and ordered a beer. This evening could not be over soon enough, he thought. Awkward silence ensued until the drinks were duly delivered. Darcy's drink, a fizzy-looking red concoction with an umbrella and a straw, arrived, and she sipped it.

"Mmm," she raised her glass and saluted the bartender, unseen. "Good stuff."

"What's in that, anyway," he asked, curious in spite of himself. "It looks like Kool-aid."

"It's a Redhead," she said, taking another drink. "Raspberry vodka and Red Bull," she grinned.

"Oh Jesus Christ, seriously?" He recoiled, imagining how that unholy combination must taste.

"And Kool-aid." she added.

"I don't even…" he trailed off, horrified, shaking his head. "Does Melissa give you a hard time if you order one those in front of her?"

"I think they named this drink after Melissa," Darcy smirked. "I was kidding about the Kool-aid."

"Could've fooled me," he muttered.

* * *

Oh man, Darcy thought, this guy obviously left his personality behind on Mars. And maybe his wits, too. It was like talking to a brick wall.

What a weird guy he was, too. Who cuts his hair, she wondered. Does he do it himself, maybe? With a lawnmower?

"So," she ventured, "First time to New York?"

He frowned. "No. I've been here before."

It was like pulling teeth, she thought, to try and get the guy talking. About anything. Ugh.

"What brings you to the city? Something for NASA?"

"Yeah." He sighed. "Well, sort of."

She paused, expectantly, expecting him to continue, and when he didn't, she prodded, "Doing?"

He looked at his hands, obviously uncomfortable. "I got invited to appear on a TV show, and NASA said I had to do it, so here I am."

A normal person would have finished that statement by including which TV show they were appearing on, but not Mr. Space Cadet here.

"What show?" Darcy prompted.

The waiter arrived with dinner, and Mark didn't deign to answer. In fact, he looked grateful that he'd managed to avoid discussing it, so she decided not to press. He did seem very ill-at-ease, and kind of fidgety, and Darcy wondered whether or not he might suffer from PTSD or something.

Lord knows, she'd worked with Tony long enough by now to recognize the signs.

It was just like Melissa, to foist her shell-shocked astronaut pal off on Darcy, like she didn't have enough space oddities in her friend catalogue, already.

This was for Melissa, though, so she'd make the extra effort. So maybe the guy's no good at conversation, she mused. And he doesn't want to talk about himself, she thought. Obviously. No doubt he's uncomfortable with his unwanted notoriety. Maybe he feels like NASA capitalizes on it?

Darcy racked her brain to think of a safe topic to try.

"So, Melissa and Robert are renewing their vows," she observed. "She mentioned that you'd be there?"

"Just for the reception," he grumbled, looking none-too-thrilled at the idea.

"Not looking forward to ah, Melissa's questionable taste in music, I take it?"

He scoffed, and Darcy saw the tiniest hint of a smile. A micro-smirk.

"Well, worry not, spaceman," she said, "Because Darcy has got your back. Melissa has agreed to let me take over for the deejay duties for at least a good handful of songs."

"Yeah?" he said, noncommittally.

"Yep," she grinned. "Put in your requests now, and I'll see what I can do. What kind of music do you like?"

"Don't care, really, as long as it's not from the seventies."

"Oh cool, well in that case, postmodern it is!" she deadpanned. "You must be such a huge fan! Maybe we could listen to 4'33 by John Cage, that's your favorite song, am I right? Except.. oh, wait," she trailed off.

He raised an eyebrow.

"I've already heard it played, like a bunch of times, tonight," she concluded with a smirk.

* * *

"No offense, Lewis," Mark reported back dutifully, the next day, "but yeah, sorry, I don't think that's going to work out. At all."

"Oh, well." Melissa sounded kind of disappointed. "Thanks for meeting her, anyway."

"I'd say you're welcome, but that might imply that I'd be up for round two."

"I thought you two might hit it off."

Not in a million years, he thought.

"It's okay," he said, instead. "It was fine. By the way, what kind of music does John Cage perform? Darcy mentioned something-"

Snorts of laughter were all that Mark could hear, from Melissa's end of the line.

Finally, she collected herself enough to say, "He's the guy that composed a song that consisted of four minutes of dead silence."

"She said I must be a big fan of his," he chuckled.

He had to admire Darcy's nerve.


	2. Chapter 2

"You've been doing a lot better," Johanssen tried to sound reassuring, as Mark rolled his eyes. "Just thirty minutes, okay?"

"Thirty minutes," Beck encouraged him. "We'll stop in, you'll say your quick bit, take a picture with the happy couple, and then we'll get you out of there."

"I just…" he trailed off. "I mean, I'm already uncomfortable _now_ and it's just you guys. I should've just said no," he finished, ruefully.

"It's an important step for your recovery," Chris said, "It'll be okay. And you'll feel more confident, and the next time won't be as bad. It's exposure therapy. It works."

"There's got to be a couple hundred people in there," Mark muttered.

"Gotta be easier than that crowd in Times Square," Beth said. She shouldn't have reminded him.

New Year's Eve in Times Square had been _such_ a mistake. Annie Montrose had insisted that he make an appearance on Rockin' New Years, when the network had offered, but the pressure of live television combined with the roar of the million-person crowd…

It had been a terrible lapse in judgement. He'd had a full-blown panic attack, cameras rolling, broadcast live all over the world. And that had been before the fireworks had started going off, a minute or two later.

Not that he remembered it particularly well, but in a _very_ strange turn of events, two of the Avengers had shown up, and hustled him away from the crowd. One of them he had recognized immediately as Steve Rogers, out of uniform. The other one had looked, oddly enough, a lot like Beck but with longer hair. _James_ , he had introduced himself.

They'd both been sympathetic, on the jet ride away from New York and back to Houston, where they had delivered him to a worried Commander Lewis.

Steve had talked for a long time about his own ongoing recovery from PTSD. His friend with the familiar face had nodded and given the occasional supportive shoulder pat, but he didn't talk much at all. They were nice guys, both of them.

They'd made it feel normal, even. Could happen to anyone. Captain America wasn't even immune.

Mark had started treatment, shortly thereafter.

But he didn't like to think about that night. It had brought the whole situation to a head, and it was humiliating to have the entire world aware of his problems.

Up til then, he'd been getting along okay, he'd thought.

 _You weren't okay at all. You were putting on an act. Don't fool yourself. You were not okay._

If he were being very honest, he did still feel, occasionally, that the treatment didn't help that much sometimes. He couldn't help thinking the thoughts.

 _Mental illness is a bitch._

But I'm going to make it _my bitch_ , he promised himself.

Starting tonight.

 _I'm going to stroll right into that room, make a quick speech, shake a few hands, and make my goodbyes and leave. Simple as that._

Thirty minutes.

 _I can do this._

* * *

Overhearing a nerdy-sounding conversation about bandwidth, Mark's head turned towards the familiar voices.

A knockout in a red dress was talking with Beth, who motioned him over.

"Mark, do you know Melissa's sister?" she asked him. "This is Darcy," she gestured to the woman in the red gown.

"We've met," Darcy answered shortly, turning back to Beth, as Mark gaped.

"Hey," Mark greeted Darcy awkwardly.

"Fancy meeting you here," she replied, flatly, as Mark did a double-take, staring at her, taking a nice long look.

Holy _shit_.

The red gown skimmed over the curves of her body, leaving her shoulders and neck bare, Mark couldn't help noticing, appreciatively. Fantastic cleavage, too. Mark had always been a connoisseur and it was simply uncanny that he could have possibly failed to notice _hers_ before now. She was gorgeous. How had he missed it?

"Wow. I never would have guessed that all of _that_ was lurking underneath the layers of black," he quipped.

Her eyes narrowed. Too bad she was such a pill, he thought. Can't even take a compliment. Beth was giving him a _look_ , as well.

"Thanks." Darcy said, caustically. She managed a tight smile, and turned away from him again.

"Seriously though. Who knew? The Lewis sisters; one got the brains, the other got the body."

Vaguely aware that his intended compliment had wound up sounding insulting, he didn't even get a chance to apologize before Darcy had turned on her heel and walked away, as Beth gave him an open-mouthed look of disgust, shaking her head.

"Okay, time to go," Robert appeared a few moments later and grabbed him by the arm and began to forcibly escort him from the room, as Melissa gave him a furious look.

* * *

" _Anyone_ who makes my sister-in-law cry is going to wind up having words with _me_ ," the usually even-tempered Robert told him angrily, once they were outside. "Even you, Watney. That was uncalled for."

Robert looked as pissed off as Mark had ever seen him. Up in his face, even, like he wanted to _fight_ him or something.

"What the hell? She blew things out of proportion," he tried to defend himself. "I meant it as a compliment!"

"Oh yeah? That girl works every day in the shadow of a building full of certifiable geniuses," Robert informed him. "All of them with huge personalities that make her feel small. Tony Stark, for one. Ever heard of him?"

"Oh." Mark managed.

"That girl grew up in the shadow of her big sister; Melissa always got all the attention. Melissa was always the favorite. And even though Darcy grew up to be brilliant in her own right, Melissa had already gotten there first, and nobody noticed Darcy."

Mark winced at that, and shifted from one foot to the other.

"And..." Robert looked at him in disgust, "not that it's any of your business, but that girl developed _very young._ She's already had a _lifetime_ of guys ogling her and making her feel uncomfortable in her own skin. Ever notice the way she usually dresses? Like she doesn't want anybody to _actually look at her_?"

 _Oh my god. What kind of asshole am I?_

Mark closed his eyes, ashamed.

"All her life Darcy's gotten the wrong kind of attention, or none at all. Melissa had to twist her arm to get her to wear that dress tonight. To get her to _try._ Give her a chance to shine. So congratulations, you completely ruined it for her," he concluded, sarcastically. " _And_ … you upset my wife," he added. "On our anniversary."

"I'm sorry."

"Why the fuck are you apologizing to _me?_ " Robert threw back at him. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to be busy cleaning up your mess and try and rescue your ass, in there," he gestured to the door. "Family tradition. First Melissa, then Darcy, now it's my turn." He gestured to Mark that he should not follow immediately, and left.

Huh? What did he mean by that?


	3. Chapter 3

Mark set the drink in front of Darcy, feeling terrible to see that she'd apparently borrowed a shawl or something from someone. She looked up at him, warily.

 _He'd done that._ Made her feel like she needed to stay covered up.

He took a deep breath.

"I'm really sorry about before," he started, pulling out the chair next to hers. "I… uh, you know, I was just trying not think about how bad I am, with people now. Big crowds just really fuck with my head. And I was just… _surprised_ , at how different you looked. My mouth kind of ran away with me, and I'm really, really sorry."

She seemed to be ignoring him, as well as the drink he'd brought her, but she also seemed to have relaxed, somewhat. At least she hadn't summarily ordered him to leave her alone.

"Well, I guess if _you_ don't want it, maybe it should have to be _my_ punishment," he joked, taking the drink from her and toasting her with it, with another apologetic look. "Raspberry vodka and Red Bull, huh?"

He detected a tiny hint of a smirk.

"Least I can do," he said, and took a drink.

He didn't comment at first, and finally, she looked up at him, expectantly. Her mouth, full lips outlined in dark red, had formed into an actual smile now. She was breathtaking, he thought.

"Ya know, that's not half bad," he said, with one eyebrow quirked. "Wouldn't have ever tried that on my own, not in a million years."

It was ironic, he thought, that he was carrying the conversation all by himself, much as she'd been forced to do that night they'd met. He had a new appreciation for how much effort she must have been putting into it.

She'd done that, for a total stranger.

She'd tried to put him at ease. And he'd acted like he was doing her some kind of favor, being seen with her.

And damn, she was a beauty. Not that he trusted himself to say so, at this point.

"In the words of the immortal Commander Lewis," he grinned, "I'll be back, don't go anywhere. I'm going to go get us another one of these."

"Alright, but I'm not waiting for a year and a half," she sassed him.

He broke out into a half-grin.

* * *

He _was_ kind of charming, Darcy thought, in an obnoxious sort of way. She might go so far as to say that perhaps she had overreacted. Just a little.

Not that she planned on telling _him_ that, of course.

And when he returned with a fresh round of drinks, grinning at her, she couldn't help but smile back.

"You um, you might want to take it easy there, Spaceman," she couldn't help warning him, as he gulped about a quarter of his drink.

"It's really pretty good," he said. "The mixer, it's cranberry juice, right?"

"Not Kool-aid," she agreed, snickering a little bit, and then breaking out into actual laughter, remembering that he'd taken her seriously, before.

"Are you implying, Darcy Lewis, that you think I am… _gullible_?" he asked, clearly affronted.

"Oh no," she deadpanned. "Never."

He tried to keep his face serious for a moment, at the implied insult, but failed, after a few seconds, the irrepressible half-grin springing back to his face.

"So," Mark vainly cast around for something to say. He was walking on eggshells, still, unwilling to accidentally say anything else irretrievably awful this evening. "You never did tell me what it is that you do, in Manhattan," he prompted.

She looked surprised.

"I'm in public relations," she hedged.

Mark wasn't sure if that was true or not, after Robert had mentioned that she worked for Tony Stark, but he nodded, anyway.

"Me too," he grinned. "Well, up until recently, anyway. I think I kinda got fired."

"You _think_ you got fired? Are you not sure?" Darcy smirked.

"No, I definitely got fired," he said, easily. "NASA may have, um, used different words to describe my firing, but yeah."

"It's not working out? We should take a break? NASA wanted to see other people?"

"In my former job position, yeah." Mark laughed. Darcy laughed, too. She had an attractive laugh, too, deep and throaty, and-

Focus, he told himself.

"Know anyone that's hiring?" he asked, lightly.

Darcy smiled. "How're you with astrophysics," she asked.

"Well, I'm an astronaut. I don't think I can plead _total_ ignorance on the topic." That was a giant understatement, and they both knew it.

"I'll mention you to Jane Foster, if you like," she offered.

Mark looked at her, dumbfounded.

"Are you being serious, right now?"

"Sure," Darcy replied. "She's around here, somewhere," she said, looking around.

"Like, you know Dr. Foster, _personally_?"

"We're old friends," she nodded. "Oh, there she is!"

Mark turned to see that indeed, the actual Dr. Jane Foster was, indeed, making idle chit-chat with someone a few tables away. When Darcy started to stand, Mark grabbed her hand, in the beginnings of a panic.

"Wait!"

She sat back down, and looked at him, with dawning comprehension.

"Not here?" she guessed. "Too many people?"

He nodded gratefully. "I really appreciate the offer… but yeah, I think maybe another time."

"Had enough fun for one night?"

"Totally," he agreed, with no small measure of sarcasm.

"How about email?" she asked.

"Definitely," he agreed. "I feel pretty confident that I can manage to send someone an email, in the privacy of my own home, without resorting to the epic fail situation you witnessed earlier. I _am_ sorry about that," he repeated.

"Maybe you'd better forward your emails over to me, first, so I can look them over for you. Just in case."

"Oh, I don't really think that'd be necessary."

"Oh, no? What do you think might happen to you if you were to allow your mouth to run away with you again, with Dr. Foster?"

Mark shrugged. "She might not hire me?"

Darcy nodded, grinning. "You might wind up dying amongst the thunderous wreckage of Mjölnir."

Mark finally got the connection after a few moments of looking at her, puzzled. "That does sound unpleasant," he admitted.

And then Beck was there, gesturing to him that it was time to leave. He got to his feet, and bid goodbye to Darcy. He didn't really have all the words on tap, to tell her that he'd enjoyed talking with her, he was grateful she'd given him another chance, or that she'd even go so far as to recommend him for a job. He did manage to hold out his hand for a weird, sort of halfway between a goodbye wave and a handshake, thing.

Impulsively, she ignored the hand he'd held out to her, and she leaned in to give him a quick hug, instead.

Just as impulsively, he took the opportunity to whisper the first thing that came to his mind, for her ears only.

"You are the most beautiful woman in this room," he told her, sincerely, and with that, he walked away, barely noticing the crowd as he put his hands in his pockets, feeling alive and normal, perhaps for the first time since he'd made it home.

When he looked back at her from the doorway, he smiled to see that she wasn't angry this time. Instead, the shawl had dropped from her shoulders, unnoticed, and a smile played at her mouth, as she approached the DJ's booth, presumably to provide the party with some non-disco music.

Good.

He wouldn't have minded staying around to find out what music that Darcy had deemed acceptable, instead, but Beck and Johanssen were ready to go.

It wasn't until he was in the car with them, buckling his seatbelt, enjoying the unusual combination of being pleasantly buzzed along with the burst of energy from the Red Bull, when something else clicked.

The Avengers connection. Holy shit. That must have been what Robert had meant, earlier. She'd been the one that sent them.


End file.
